Logs:Sunshine and Rain
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| RL Date: 27 July, 2016 |
| Who: Jocelyn, Lys |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Proddy Lys is sitting on Aidavanth's ledge. There's sunshine, rain and candor. |
| Where: Aidavanth's Ledge, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 23, Month 5, Turn 41 (Interval 10) |
| OOC Notes: I'm just going to put this here. |
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| Given the civility of what few interactions Lys and Jocelyn have had since that awful night when everything went sideways, Lys sitting on the edge of Aidavanth's ledge is almost certainly the last place Jocelyn might expect to find her. And yet, on this muddy morning, that's just where Lys is. It's early enough that breakfast isn't yet underway and the greenrider is dressed for a run despite the early morning drizzles that look likely to persist on and off the rest of the day. Her legs swing a bit, boots making a rhythmic thump-thump-thump thump-thump as she watches the bowl from this familiar vantage. There's no warning for Jocelyn that Lys is there while Aidavanth sleeps on the sands. 'Unexpected' is undoubtedly an understatement for the sight of the greenrider once Jocelyn comes through the opening leading to the ledge, dressed to begin her day - and stops short, eyes wide for a long moment before the mask she's worn in their interactions since That Night slams firmly into place. Flatly, "Greenrider. I don't believe you have an appointment. This isn't a free-for-all rest stop just because you get too tired, " a lips-pursed glance for the other's attire, "on your little run." Her arms cross. "I'll thank you to leave." It's really hard to recognize 'proddy' from the back, but once Lys twists at the waist and showers Jocelyn in a painfully genuine, sunny smile with no trace of sadness, badness or any variety of neutrality, it might be as obvious as a slap in the face. "I'm sorry, Joce," sounds genuine too. "I didn't think." She probably didn't. "I missed the view. I missed... you." Only she's not supposed to say that and briefly a cloud troubles that sunny disposition, but only briefly, the thoughts slipping away as water under the bridge. "Are you okay?" Maybe she's already forgotten the bit about being asked to leave. Jocelyn's exhale is long and heavy once she sees that smile, that sunniness. "You certainly didn't think, " she agrees after Lys's apology, frown deepening. "I thought I've made myself clear. I don't want to see you here again, regardless of whether you're in this state or not. This is my home." The query on her well-being? She seems determined to ignore its existence, expression turning weary. "You need to go." "We were friends, Joce," Lys sighs, clouds coming again to dim the sunshine of her mood. She lets her boots hump a pair of times more before she scoots back on the ledge and turns so she can get purchase with her feet to rise. "Before anything else, we were friends. There are a lot of things I didn't tell you, because what good would it do? For you to know? You can't heal old wounds any more than I can. We can't undo the people we've become with the lives we've led. You were valued in your job, even before Aidavanth. I was near enough to crazy, near enough to broken before Evyth. I've never fully mended." All of that, so candid, so plain, so painful, probably, but no tears, just another sigh. "I thought maybe if I kept it all locked in a box, you could have the outside of the box and be happy with that. But you wanted what was in the box too, only you didn't, not really. Not once you knew what was inside. Not even as a friend. Not even as a dragonrider in your Weyr." Something prompts her to add, "I'm not leaving. It's my home too." As if Jocelyn would ever ask her to transfer just because of a personal falling out. Then she stands, awkwardly, looking suddenly a little unsure and a little confused about just where she is and just what she's doing. "We were friends, " Jocelyn repeats with emphasis after Lys is finished, lips pressing into a thin line. "You understand why that can't be the case now. Not after your, " her lips curl, "confession. This has never been your home. You made it very clear to me that you'll never live here. You have your own weyr, last I checked." As the greenrider's expression turns confused, the redhead straightens, grip tightening on her own elbows. "Lys." It's low, firm. "Go finish your run. That's what you were doing." "This Weyr is my home. It has always been my home," Lys clarifies with another sigh. "I never could have lived here. If you can't have been friends with me after I just told you the truth about what was in the box," that damned box metaphor would be something that stuck in her head, wouldn't it? "Then I certainly would never have been invited to live here." She shakes her head a little, and with it, her body. "I regret a lot of things," she decides as she takes a few steps in the direction of going, twisting back to say, "But not what we got to have. Just what we didn't. I guess." And again, that confusion touches her face, but at least this time she's taking a few more steps to continue going. "The world isn't only black and white. Neither are people." That's sort of a rumination that might not really have been meant for the goldrider but... well, it was loud enough. "I can't deny that I've had moments lately where I've wished that it wasn't mine, " Jocelyn admits lowly, watching Lys's progress. There's sadness there, in her face, however briefly. "Decisions, however, have to be." And maybe that's her way of saying that she's finally accepting the, well, finality of theirs. Lys was going to go. Really. Probably. But Jocelyn's words have her turning back to look at the redhead. "I'm sorry you're hurting, Jocelyn," is that same frankness as before, "But what you're mourning is what you wished could be but never could have been. Even if I reformed now, for you, it would be different, because my past would be a part of it, instead of something locked away in a box you never needed to know about or see." The box. The damned box. "Dreams are hard to let go of," she says after a moment, her tone coloring with sympathy, "but there are always new dreams. Different dreams. Better dreams." Then it's her turn to look briefly sad, though there's a little hint of a smile as she says, "I'm dreaming that maybe someday we'll be friends again. Maybe someday you'll want to hear the whole story. Maybe someday you'll look at me and see me." She turns to go, again, and then pauses and turns back, "I always liked how you saw me, even if I knew you weren't seeing me." And then the turning and the going again. Maybe she'll actually go this time? Undoubtedly familiar, now, with Lys's ability to go off on tangents while proddy, Jocelyn listens impatiently, turning back into her weyr afterward with a dismissive, "What I mourned. Good morning, Lys." It's only some minutes after that she adds, once her walls are her only audience, "I liked how you saw me, too." At least Lys doesn't turn back to go off on some other tangent with the pointed past tense. No, the nice thing about a proddy Lys is that troubles are temporary and the next sunny smile is right around the corner, even if that corner is taking her back into the muddy bowl just as the clouds let loose another drizzle of rain. |
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